THE DAWNING OF LIGHT.
(1750.)
From the German cities, on the boundaries betwixt guild labour and free
invention, did the art of printing come into the world--the greatest
acquisition of the human race, after that of the alphabet. The mind of
man could now be conveyed, bound up in wood and leather, upon a
thousand roads at the same time, all over the earth; the powers of man
in church and state, in science and handicraft, were unfolded, not only
more powerfully, more variously, and more richly, but in a totally
different manner from the quiet plodding of the past. A change was
produced in nations in one century which formerly would have taken a
thousand years. Every individual was bound together in one great
intellectual unity with his contemporaries, and every nation with other
civilized nations. For the first time a regular connection in the
intellectual development of the human race was secured. The mind of the
individual will continue to live upon earth perhaps many thousand years
after he has ceased to breathe; but the soul of each individual nation
gains a capacity of renovating itself which will, we hope, remove its
decease, according to the old laws of nature, to an incalculable
distance.
The black art had not been invented many years when a spring-tide arose
in the soul. From the study of the Latin writers, the humanitarians
proclaimed, with transport, how much there had been of the beautiful
and the grand in the ancient world. Eagerly did they maintain the
treasure of noble feelings, which had fallen on their souls from the
distant past, against the coarse or corrupt life that they beheld
around them. With the holy book in their hands, pious ecclesiastics
contended for the words of Scripture, against the despotism of Rome and
the false traditions of the Church. By thousands of books written by
themselves, they raised the consciences of the people, for the greatest
spiritual struggle that had ever taken place since the Star of
Bethlehem had appeared to the human race; and again through thousands
of books, after the first victory, they consecrated anew for their
people all earthly relations, the duties and rights of men, of the
family, and of the governing powers, as the first educators and
teachers of the great multitude.
But it was not the pleasure derived from the ancient poets and statues,
nor the mighty struggle which was carried on concerning the teaching of
the Church, nor the theologians and the philologists of the sixteenth
century, that were the greatest blessings bestowed by the new art; it
is not they alone that have given richness to thought, and security to
judgment, and made love and hatred greater. This was brought about in
yet another way--through the medium of types and woodcuts; slowly,
imperceptibly, to contemporaries, but to us wonderfully.
Men learnt gradually a different mode of seeing, observing, and
judging. Sharp as was the mental activity of individuals in the middle
ages, the impressions which were conveyed to their minds from the outer
world were too easily distorted by the activity of their imagination,
which united dreams, forebodings, and immature combinations with the
object. Now the distinct black upon white was always at work, to give a
durable, unvarying report of multitude of new conceptions upon the
mutual relations of the State, and the position held in it by the
individual man. How various have been the lawgivers who have dominated
over the lives of individuals--the Jewish priests, the community of
apostles, the Jurist schools of ancient Rome, the Longobard kings and
the ambitious popes; and, again, together with laws which had
originated in past ages and nations, there were the reminiscences from
German antiquity--legal decisions, ordinances, codes of law,
regulations and privileges. According to their decisions a man
preserved or lost his house and farm, wife and child, and his property,
either inherited or acquired. And just after the great war, the
despotic will of the ruler, and the tyrannical power of a heartless
system, had exalted itself above all law. Amid such a chaos of laws,
and the suppression of rights by the power of the State, the minds of
men sought a firm support. And as the Pietists demanded of the Church a
worthier conception of human rights and duties, the Jurists also began,
after the great war, to place the natural law of men in opposition to
the injustice of despotic States, and to vindicate the reasonable law
of States against intriguing politicians. Together with mathematical
discipline and natural philosophy, the science of law became the
laboratory in which minds were reared to ideal requirements. From them
sprang a new philosophy.
After the Thirty Years' War there began, in the great civilized
nations, a systematic exposition of those convictions which Science,
from its then standing-point, was able to give concerning God, the
creation and the government of the world. The French Descartes, the
English Locke, the Dutch Spinoza, and the German Leibnitz, Thomasius
and Wolf, were the great exponents of this philosophy.
They all, with the exception of the free-thinker Spinoza, sought to
keep their system, concerning the divine rule in nature and in the soul
of man, in unison with the doctrines of Christian theology.
After Descartes had put forth his propositions, nothing appeared fair
or true to the inquiring spirit of man but what could be proved by
unanswerable demonstration,--all belief in authority passed away;
science assumed a new dominion. The divines, also, once her severe
rulers,--even Luther had placed the words of Holy Scripture above the
human reason,--now found that natural theology was the ally of
revelation. Young theologians eagerly sought in this philosophy new
supports to their faith. The necessity and wisdom of a Creator were
demonstrated from the movements of the stars, the volcanic fires, or
the convolutions of a snail's shell. On the other hand, there was no
lack of men who denied the creating power of a personal God and the
immortality of the soul. But against such isolated deists and atheists,
most of the philosophers, and the Christian piety of the great mass of
the people, rose in arms.
The great German philosophers who, at the beginning of the eighteenth
century, were the leaders of this movement, carried a holy fervour into
the various circles of German life. Leibnitz, the great creative
intellect of his time, a wonderful mixture of elastic pliancy and firm
tranquillity, of sovereign certainty and tolerant geniality, worked, by
his countless monographs and endless letters, especially on the leaders
of the nation and on foreigners, on princes, statesmen, and scholars,
opening a path on all sides, and hastening forward to disclose the
widest prospects. Besides him, Thomasius, spiritual, emotional,
combative, and greedy of approbation, excited even the indifferent and
insignificant, by his noisy activity, to take a part in the struggle.
As the first German journalist, he contended through the press, both
jestingly and in earnest--now in alliance with the Pietists against
intolerant orthodoxy, now as opponent of fanatical revivals, for
toleration and pure morality against every kind of superstition and
fanaticism. Lastly, the younger Christian Wolf, the great professor; he
was a methodical, clear, and sober teacher, who, during long years of
useful activity, drew up a system and founded a school.
A period such as this, in which the great discoveries of individuals
inspired their numerous disciples with enthusiasm, is a happy period
for millions who perhaps have no immediate share in the new
acquisition. Somewhat of apostolical consecration seems to rest upon
the first efforts of a school. What has been progressively formed in
the soul of a teacher, painfully amidst inward struggles, works on
young souls as something great, firm, and elevating. With enthusiasm
and Pietism is united the impulse to work out by self-exertion the new
acquisition. Rapid is the spread of theorems among the people; they
work not only on the individual sciences, but on all the tendencies of
the practical mind, on lawgiving, statesmanship, household regulations,
and family training; in the studio and workshop of the artist, and
handicraftsman.
This new scientific light was first kindled in 1700. Academies, learned
periodicals, and prizes were established. The leaders adjusted the
German language to the exigencies of science, and thus placed it
victoriously on an equality with Latin; and this glorious deed was the
first step towards bringing the mass of the nation into a new relation
with the learned.
Thus a new life forced its way, about 1720, with irresistible power
into the houses, writing-rooms, and workshops of the citizens. Every
sphere of human activity was searchingly investigated. Agriculture,
commerce, and the technicalities of trade were made accessible by
hand-books of instruction, which are still in the present day the
groundwork of our technological literature. Books were written on raw
materials, and the method of working them; on minerals, colours, and
machines; in many places popular periodicals appeared, which
endeavoured to make the new discoveries of science available to the
artizan and manufacturer. Even into the hut of the poor peasant did
some rays of bright light penetrate; for him, also, arose a small
philanthropic literature. The moral working of every earthly vocation
was also exhibited; much that was elevating was said concerning the
worth and importance of operatives and of officials; the inward
connection of the material and spiritual interests of the nation were
proclaimed; incessantly was the necessity pointed out of abandoning the
beaten track of old customs, of taking interest in the progress of
foreign countries, and of learning their character and requirements.
Men wrote upon dress and manners in a new style, with humour, irony,
and reproof, but always with the wish of remoulding and improving. The
spiritual failings of the various classes and professions, the weakness
of women, and the roughness and dishonesty of men were incessantly
criticised and chastised, undoubtedly in an uncouth style, and
sometimes with pedantry and narrow-mindedness, but in an earnest and
upright spirit.
The whole private life of Germany was thrown into a state of restless
excitement; new ideas struggled everywhere with old prejudices;
everywhere the citizen beheld around and within him a change which it
was difficult to withstand. The period was still poor in great
phenomena, but everywhere in smaller events an impulsive power was
perceptible. Only a few years later, the new enlightenment was to bear
blossoms of gladness to the whole world. Still is philosophy and
popular culture of the people dependent on mathematics and natural
science; but since Johann Matthias Gesner, the knowledge of antiquity,
the second pole of all scientific culture, has begun to bear upon the
historical development of the popular mind. A few years after 1750,
Winkelmann travelled to Italy.
And how did the citizens live, from whose homes the greater part of our
thinkers and discoverers, our scholars and poets have gone forth, who
were to carry out the new culture further and bolder, more freely and
more beautifully?
Let us examine a moderate-sized city about 1750. The old brick walls
are still standing, with towers, not only over the gates, but here and
there upon the walls. A temporary wooden roof is placed on many, the
strongest have prisons in them, others that were decayed, having been
riddled with shot, are pulled down. The city walls also are repaired;
projecting angles and bastions still lie in ruins; blooming elder and
garden flowers are planted behind, and trail over the stones; the city
moat lies for the most part dry, the cows of some of the citizens
pasture within it, or the clothmakers have their frames set up with
rows of small iron hooks, and quietly spread their cloths over them.
The usual colour since the Pietists, is pepper and salt, as it was then
called; the old favourite blue of the Germans is also seen, though no
longer made from German woad, but from foreign indigo. The narrow
openings in the doors have still wooden planks, often two behind one
another, and they are closed at night by the city watchmen, who stand
at their post, but have often to be awakened by knocking and ringing,
when anyone desires admission. On the inner side of the city wall,
fragments of wooden galleries are still to be seen, on which once the
archers and arquebuziers stood; but the passage along the wall is no
longer free through its whole length, there are already many poor
cottages and shops built on it.
In the interior of the city, the houses are unadorned, and not so
numerous as in former centuries; there are still some waste spaces
between, but most have been bought by people of rank and turned into
gardens. Perhaps there is already a coffee garden, laid out after the
pattern of the famed one of Leipzig; it contains some rows of trees and
benches, and in the coffee-room, near the bar, are arranged the clay
pipes of the habitues; but the maple head and the costly meerschaum
are just coming into fashion. In the neighbourhood of the chief
market-place, the houses are more stately, the old arcades are not
preserved; these covered passages, which existed once throughout
the greater part of Germany, led through the basement story to the
market-places, protecting the foot passengers from rain, and acted as a
communication from the house to the street. The old pillars and vaults
are attached to the massive edifice of the council-house by coarse
rough-cast cement and intermediate walls; in the dim poorly lighted
rooms of the interior hang cobwebs, gray piles of records raise their
heads amidst layers of dust; in the council-room, in a raised space,
the railing of which separates the councillors from the citizens, are
stiff-cushioned chairs, covered with green cloth, and fastened with
brass nails; everything is unadorned, even the whitewash neglected, and
everything poor and tasteless, for in the new State money is deficient,
and no pleasure is felt in adorning public edifices, which are
considered by the citizens as a necessary evil. Most of the houses in
the market-place have pointed gables; they look out on the street, and
betwixt the houses broad rushing gutters pour their water on the bad
pavement, which is made of rough stones. Among the houses stands an
occasional church or abandoned monastic buildings, with buttresses and
pointed arches. The people look with indifference on these remains of
the past, bound up with which there is scarcely any fond remembrance,
for they have lost all appreciation of ancient art; owing to this, the
edifices of the ancient times are everywhere ruined, as the castle of
Marienburg was by Frederic of Prussia. The magistrates have carefully
turned the empty space into a parsonage-house or schoolroom, knocked
out the windows, and made a plaster ceiling; and the boys look from
their Latin grammar with admiration on the stone rosettes and delicate
work of the chisel,--remains of a time when such inutilities were still
erected; and in the crumbling cloisters where once trod monks with
earnest step, they now spin their humming tops; for the "_Circitor
susurrans_," or "Monk," is still the favourite game of this period,
which gentlemen of rank also, in a smaller form, sometimes carry in
their pockets.
There is already much order in the city: the streets are swept, the
dung-heaps, which fifty years before, even in towns of some calibre,
lay in front of the doors--the ancient cleanliness having disappeared
in the war--are again removed by an ordinance, which the councillors of
the sovereign have sent to the superior officials, and these to the
senate. The stock of cattle in the streets is also much diminished; the
pigs and cattle, which not long before 1700 enjoyed themselves amidst
the children at play, in the dirt of the street, are strictly kept in
farmyards and out-houses, for the government does not like that the
cities should keep cattle within the walls, for it has introduced the
_octroi_, and a disbanded non-commissioned officer paces backwards and
forwards near the gate, with his cane in his hand in order to examine
the cans and baskets of the country people. Thus the rearing of cattle
is carried on in the needy suburbs and farms: it is only in the small
country towns that citizens employ agriculture as a means of support.
There is a police also now, that exercises a strict vigilance over
beggars and vagabonds, and the passport is indispensable for ordinary
travellers. Constables are visible in the streets, and watch
the public-houses. At night a fire watchman is posted near the
council-house, and the warders of the towers by means of flags and
large speaking trumpets, give danger signals. The engine-house is also
kept in good order; clumsy fire-barrels stand beside the council-house
under open sheds, and above them hang the iron-cased fire-ladders. The
night watch are tolerably watchful and discreet; after the great war
they here and there sang offensive verses, when they called out the
hours, but now the pious parson has insisted upon both words and melody
being spiritual.
The artisan continues to work in the old way, each one adheres steadily
to his guild; the painters also are incorporated, and execute as a
masterpiece a crucifixion with the usual number of prescribed figures.
In the Roman Catholic districts they live by very moderate performances
of the pictures of the saints; in the Protestant, they paint shields
and targets, and the coats of arms of the sovereigns, which are to be
seen in numbers on public buildings and over the doors of artisans.
Most of the artisans adhere strictly to their old customs, and
especially to their guild rights. Any one who enters the guild not
according to artisan law, is treated as a bungler, and persecuted with
a hatred, the intention of which is to exclude him from their society.
Serious business is still transacted in front of the open shops;
apprentices are taken, fellows receive the freedom, quarrels are
accommodated, and the formula "By your kind permission," which
introduces every speech, sounds unceasingly at all the meetings of the
masters and the fellows; but the old colloquies and sayings of the
middle ages are only half understood, rough jests have been introduced,
and the better class already begin not to attach much value to the
guild; indeed there are those who consider the old constitution of the
guild as a burden, because it stubbornly resists their endeavours to
enlarge their manufacturing activity; such was the case with the
clothmakers and iron-workers. And the jovial annual feasts which were
once the joy and pride of almost every artisan have nearly ceased. The
processions in masks, and the old peculiar dances, are incompatible
with the culture of a time in which the individual fears nothing so
much as to lose his dignity, in which it is preached from the pulpit,
that noisy, worldly amusements are sinful, and the learned men of the
city find no adequate reason for such disturbance in the streets.
The gentry of the city are separated from the citizens by dress and
titles. As much as the nobles look down upon them, so do they upon the
citizens, and these again upon the peasants. A merchant has already a
place among the gentry, especially if he occupies some city office or
has wealth. In the families also of merchants of distinction, as the
first wholesale houses are denominated, and in those of traders of
consideration, as the possessors of large retail shops are called, a
pleasing change may be observed in the mode of life. The coarse luxury
of a former generation is restrained, better training at home and
greater rectitude in business are everywhere perceptible. It is already
a subject of boast that the members of old solid commercial houses are
not those who sue for patents of nobility; nay, such vain new nobles
are despised by the high commercial class.[85] And the unprejudiced
cavalier is brought to confess, that in fact there is no difference
between the wife of the landed proprietor, who goes with dignity into
the cow-house to overlook the skimming of the cream, and the wife of a
merchant of distinction at Frankfort, who during the fair sits in the
warehouse; "she is well and handsomely dressed, she gives orders to her
people like a princess, she knows how to behave to people of rank,
commoners, and those of the lower classes, each according to their
class and position; she reads and understands many languages, she
judges sensibly, and knows how to live, and bring up her children
well." Other circumstances, besides the intellectual energy of the
time, contributed to elevate the German merchant. The influx of the
expelled Huguenots had not in some respects been favourable to our
German character, yet the influence that they exercised on German
commerce must be highly estimated. About 1750 their families dwelt in
almost all the larger commercial cities; they formed there a small
aristocratic community, lived in social seclusion, and maintained
carefully their relations with their connections in France, who, up to
the present day, form an aristocracy of French wholesale traders,
serious and strict, and rather of the old-fashioned aristocratic
school. It was among the German Huguenots that the puritanical
character of the Genevan and Flemish Separatists found many adherents,
their staid demeanour had exercised an influence on other great houses
both in Frankfort and along the Rhine. But German commerce had now
acquired new vigour, and healthy labour raised the tone of its
character. The impoverished country again took an honourable share in
the commerce of the world. Already did the Germans export their iron
and steel wares from Mark, Solingen and Suhl, cloth from all the
provinces, fine cloth also of Portuguese and Spanish wool from
Aix-la-Chapelle, damask from Westphalia, linen and lawn from Silesia;
to England, Spain, Portugal, and the colonies, whose products in return
had a great market in Germany; while the whole of the east of Europe,
up to the frontiers of Turkey and the steppes of Asia, were supplied by
German merchants. The poverty of the people, that is to say, the low
rate of wages, made the outlay of many manufactures light and
remunerative. In Hamburg and the cities of the Rhine, from Frankfort to
Aix-la-Chapelle, the wholesale trade throve, and equally so in the
frontier lands towards Poland, though in a ruder form, as it was one of
barter. Goods and travellers were still conveyed down the Danube in
rough wooden boats, which were built for a single voyage, and taken to
pieces at the end of it, and sold as planks. And at Breslau the bearded
traders from Warsaw and Novogorod sold the carts and horses of the
steppes, on which they had brought their wares in long caravans to
barter them for the costly products of western civilisation.
Already do the Silesian merchants begin to complain that the caravans
come less often, and foreigners are dissatisfied on account of the new
Prussian red-tapism and customhouse regulations of a strict government.
At the same time travelling traders, with their sample cases of
knife-blades, and needles, began to find their way from Lennep and
Bartscheid to the Seine and the Thames, and the younger sons of great
manufacturers met together with Hamburghers in London, Lisbon, Cadiz,
and Oporto, and there, as bold and expert speculators, founded numerous
firms. As early as 1750, cosmopolitanism had developed itself in the
families of great merchants, who looked down with contempt on the
limited connections of home. And something of the enterprising and
confident character of these men has been communicated to their
business friends in the interior. A manly, firm, and independent spirit
is to be found about this time pervading all classes.
But most of the gentry in every city belonged to the literary
classes--theologians, jurists, and medical men. They represented
probably every shade of the culture of the time, and the strongest
contrasts of opinion were to be found in every great city. Now, the
clergy were either orthodox or Pietist. The first, generally pleasant
in social intercourse; not unfrequently _bon vivants_, able to stand a
good bottle of wine, and tolerant of the worldly jokes of their
acquaintances. They had lost a good deal of their old pugnacity and
inquisitorial character; they condescended sometimes to quote a passage
from Horace, occupied themselves with the history of their parish
church and school, and already began to regard with secret goodwill the
dangerous Wolf, because he was so striking a contrast to their
opponents, the Pietists. Where Pietist clergy resided they were
probably in better relations with other confessions, and were
especially reverenced by the women, Jews, and poor of the city. Their
faith, also, had become milder; they were, for the most part, worthy
men--pure in morals, faithful shepherds of souls, with a tender,
lovable character. Their preaching was very pathetic and flowery; they
liked to warn people against cold subtleties, and recommended what they
called a juicy, racy style, but which their opponents found fault with
as affected tautology. Their endeavours to isolate their parishioners
from the bustle of the world was even now regarded with distrust by a
great majority of the citizens; and in the taverns it was usual to say,
mockingly, that the pious sat groaning over leather aprons, shoemakers'
lasts, and tailors' geese, and were on the watch for regeneration.
The teachers of the city schools were still learned theologians, and,
for the most part, poor candidates; the Rector, perhaps, had been
appointed from the great school of the Halle Orphan Asylum. They were
an interesting class, accustomed to self-denial, frequently afflicted
with weakly bodies, the result of the hard, necessitous life through
which they have had to work upwards. There were original characters
among them; many were queer and perverse, and the majority had no
comprehensive knowledge. But in very many of them was hid, perhaps,
under strange forms, somewhat of the freedom, greatness, and candour of
the ancient world; they had been, since the Reformation, the natural
opponents of all pious zelots, even those that came from the great
orphan asylum, from the training of the two Frankes and of Joachim
Lange were generally more moderate than was satisfactory to the Pietist
pastors. The leaves of their Cornelius Nepos were from constant use
frightfully black; their lot was to rise slowly from the sixth or fifth
form to the dignity of conrectors, with a small increase in their
scanty salary. The greatest pleasure of their life was to find
sometimes a scholar of capacity, in whom they could plant, besides the
refinements of Latin syntax and prosody, some of their favourite
ideas--a heathenish view of the greatness of man, influences on which
the scholar, perhaps, in his manhood, looked back with a smile. But in
this thankless and little esteemed occupation they laboured incessantly
to form in the Germans a feeling for the beauty of antiquity, and a
capacity for comprehending other races of men. And the unceasing
influence exercised by thousands of them on the living generation was
increased when Gesner naturalised the Greek language in the schools,
and established an entirely new foundation for the instruction of
scholars, which was spread by the teachers with enthusiasm; the spirit
of antiquity, a thorough comprehension of the writers, not the merely
grammatical construction, became the main object.
The school of every important town was a Latin one. If it attained to
so high a point as to prepare the upper classes for the University, the
boys who were to become artisans left when they got to the fourth form.
This arrangement contributed to insure a certain amount of education to
the citizen, which is now sometimes wanting. It was certainly in itself
no great gain for the guild master to have some knowledge of Mavor, and
of Cupid and Venus's doves, which were brought forward in all the poems
of the learned, and embellished even the almanacks and gingerbread;
but, together with these conceptions from antiquity, his mind imbibed
also the seed of the new ideas of the time. It is owing to this kind of
school culture that enlightenment of mind has so rapidly spread among
intelligent citizens.
Strict was the school discipline; the usual words of encouragement
which the poor scholars then wrote in one another's albums
were--"Patience! joyfully onward!" But strictness was necessary, for in
the under classes grown-up youths sat beside the children, and the bad
tricks of two generations were in constant conflict. Through a great
part of Germany there existed a custom which has been retained up to
the present day, that the boys who were on the foundation must, under
the lead of a teacher, sing as choristers. If they did not walk in
funeral processions behind the cross, in their blue mantles, it was a
grievous neglect, which much disturbed the discipline of the school,
and as early as 1750 was complained of as an irregularity.
The followers of Wolf were to be found everywhere among the gentry, as
the scholars of the new "enlightenment," the watchmen of toleration,
and the friends of scientific progress. In the course of this year they
were in anxious discussion on some old controversial points, for the
Leipziger, Crusius, had just published his "Introduction to the
Rational Contemplation of Natural Occurrences;" and, with this work,
and a cosmos of the year 1749, in their hands, they were once more
taking into consideration whether they were to assume that space was a
plenum or a vacuum, and whether the final cause of movement was to be
sought in the active force of elastic bodies. Indignantly did these men
of progress regard the theological faculty at Rostock, who had, just at
this period, compelled a young Herr Kosegarten to make a recantation,
because he had dared to maintain that the human nature of the Redeemer
on earth had only been to a certain degree supported by his Divine
nature; that he had learnt like others, and had not in all things a
perfect foreknowledge. On the other hand, they accorded a benignant
smile to the physico-theological contemplations of those who proved the
possibility of the resurrection, in spite of the continual change of
matter--or, to use the language of the time, in spite of the change of
particles of the body--or took pains to show wisdom and foresight in
the white fur of the hare in Livonia.
They could also prize German poetry and eloquence. Herr Professor
Gottsched and his wife were then at Leipzig. Like others, they had
their weaknesses; but there was a noble nature in them, decorum of
character, dignity, and knowledge. They also belonged to this school,
and they wished, through the medium of German poetry, to introduce
greater refinement and better taste into the country. They met with
much enmity, but their periodical, the "Neuen Buechersaal," could
scarcely be dispensed with by those that followed the course of the
_belles lettres_. Beside this elder generation, a younger one was
already springing up in the cities, who no longer considered the fine
arts merely as agreeable ornaments, but looked to their influence for
noble feelings and a freer morality, at which the literary party
disapprovingly shook their heads. And thus these disciples--it was only
a small number--conducted themselves for two years with an excitement
which led them into great exaggerations; they carried books in their
pockets, they gave them to the women of their acquaintance, they
declaimed loudly, and pressed one another's hands. It was the first
dawn of a new life which was hailed with so much joy. In the monthly
journal, the "Bremer Beitraege," appeared the first cantos of the
"Messiah," by Herr Klopstock; the perplexity which, in the beginning,
was excited by its ancient metre, was now followed, in a small circle,
by unreserved admiration. In the preceding year another poem, "The
Spring," by an unknown writer, had been published; no one knew
who had written it, but it was supposed to be the same agreeable poet
who, under the armorial bearings of Breitkopf, had contributed,
together with Kaestner, Gellert, and Mylius, to the monthly journal
"Belustigungen des Verstandes und Witzes" ("Diversions of Wit and
Intellect"). And just at this time, also, the beginning of another
heroic poem, "Noah," by another unknown writer, had been published by
Weidmann; it was supposed to be by a Swiss, because the name Sipha
appeared in it, which had formerly been used by Bodmer. All these poems
were in Roman metre, and this new style caused an excitement of mind
such as had never before been known. There appeared to be a regular
rebellion among the _bels-esprits_; and there was shortly to be a still
greater uproar.
The cities were still deficient in such theatrical representations as
could satisfy a thoughtful mind. But any one who then travelling in
northern Germany had met the Schoenemannsche troop, would still remember
a young man of disadvantageous figure, with a short neck, of the name
of Eckhof, who afterwards became the most refined and finished actor of
Germany. And just within these weeks a new book had come from the
Leipzig fair, "Beitraege zur Historie und Aufnahme des Theaters"
("Contributions to the History and Rise of the Theatre"), which had
been written by two young literati of Leipzig; of whom one was called
Lessing. In the same batch of books was "Pamela," by Richardson, who,
the year before had written "Clarissa."
But what was then read in the houses of the citizens was of quite
another quality. As yet there were no circulating libraries; only the
small second-hand booksellers sometimes lent books to trustworthy
acquaintance. But there sprang up a voluminous literature of novels,
which were eagerly bought by unassuming readers. They were narratives,
slight and carelessly put together, in which strange events were
related.
These adventures were represented in the seventeenth century in various
ways: either in dull imitations of the old chivalrous and pastoral
novels, with a phantastic background, and without the advantage of
detailed description; or a coarse copy of real life, without beauty,
often common and vulgar. There was then a concurrence of a decaying
style and of the beginning of a new one. After 1700, the realistic
tendency became the ruling one. From the Amadis novels, arose loose
court and tourist adventures. "Simplicissimus" was followed by a great
number of war romances, Robinsonades, and stories of adventurers; the
greater part of them are very carelessly composed, and German gossip or
newspaper information of extraordinary occurrences abroad, partly
diaries, are worked in. "Fassmann's Dialogues from the Kingdom of
the Dead," are collected in a similar way from flying-sheets and
story-books, which that disorderly character, who then resided in
Franconia, had gathered together from the pastor of the place. Those
who wrote thus were thoroughly despised by literary men, but they
exercised a very great influence--one difficult to estimate--on the
mind of the people. They were two separate spheres that revolved
together. And this contrast between the reading of the people and that
of the educated class, exists but too much, even in the present day.
Among the gentry of the town, however, there were in 1750 still other
literati. No town of any importance failed to possess a patriotic man,
who examined old chronicles, church documents, and records from the
council archives, and could give valuable contributions towards a
history of the place and district. As yet little was known of the
monuments of antiquity; but they, as well as old inscriptions and the
false idols of our primeval ancestors, were copied as curiosities.
Still greater was the interest excited by physical science. It
continues the most popular branch of knowledge in the smaller cities.
Not inconsiderable is the number of respectable periodicals which give
information concerning the new discoveries of science. We also revert
to them with respect; the representations and style are sometimes
admirable; as, for example, in "Kaestner's Hamburg Magazine;" and they
are unweariedly occupied in presenting the scientific discoveries of
commerce, trade, and agriculture to every circle of practical
interests. Their rational influence, however, did not entirely displace
all that was untenable. The old inclination for alchemy was not
conquered. Still did men, sensible and upright men, continue this kind
of work; earnestly was the great secret sought for, and ever did
something interpose to hinder final success. This work was carried on
secretly, but well did the city know that the councillor or the
secretary still used his chemical apparatus to make gold. But a
pleasure in chemical processes, distillations in retorts, and cold
solvents was prevalent among many; powerful tinctures were distributed
to acquaintances, and housewifes loved to distil various artificial
waters; in advertisement sheets, medicaments were recommended, pills
for the gout, powders for the scrofula, &c., charlatanry was
comparatively greater than now, and lies, equally barefaced. A zeal for
scientific collections became general; boys also began to pin
butterflies and beetles, and to examine dendrites and minerals in their
father's microscope; and the more wealthy rejoiced over "Roesel's Insect
Recreations," and the first number of "Frischen's Representations of
Birds."
The well educated, even in the humblest places, prided themselves on
collecting a library. Twice a year, at Easter and Michaelmas, the lover
of books made his regular purchases; then the bookseller brought from
the Leipzig Fair the "novelties" which he had either bought with money
or exchanged for other works published by himself. These new books he
laid in his shop for inspection, as a trader now does his drapery. This
was an important time for literary amateurs; the shops were the focus
of literary intercourse; the chief customers seated themselves there,
gave their opinions, chose and rejected books, and received the
lists of new works of the great firms,--as, for example, that of
Breitkopf,--and obtained information of other novelties from the
literary world, such as, that in Goettingen a new scientific society had
been founded; that Herr Klopstock had received a pension of 400 thalers
from the King of Denmark, without any duties attached to it; and that
Herr von Voltaire had been appointed chamberlain at Berlin. About this
period many other desirable purchases made their way through the
country in the bales of books.
There were many opportunities also of acquiring old as well as new
books. An interest had already been excited in the old editions of the
classics. Besides those of Aldus, those of Elzivir were sought after
with especial curiosity. But the second-hand book trade was as yet
inconsiderable, except in Halle and Leipzig; it was not easy, unless by
accident or at some auction, for individuals to acquire books which, in
the last century, had been collected by the patricians of the Imperial
cities whose families had gradually died out, or perhaps from monastic
libraries, the books of which had been sold in an underhand way by
unscrupulous monks. An ecclesiastic in the neighbourhood of Graefenthal
in Franconia sold, for twenty-five gulden, which were to be paid by
instalments, many ells of folios and quartos beautifully bound; the
ells of the larger-sized books were somewhat dearer than those of the
smaller ones; many works were of course incomplete, because, the
measurement being precise, the ell was shorter than the number of
volumes. There was no choice allowed. It was generally the backs that
were measured. This barbarism, however, was an exception.
Those authors who wrote books, if in high repute, obtained from the
booksellers an amount of compensation far from insignificant. Their
position, in this respect, had much improved since the beginning of the
century. As the predilection for theological and legal treatises still
continued, they were sometimes more highly paid than they would be now.
He, nevertheless, who did not stand, as university teacher, on the
vantage-ground of science, gained but a small income. When the Right
Rev. Herr Lesser, in 1737, made an agreement with his publisher for the
publication of "the Chronicle of Nordhausen," he was "satisfied" to
take as payment for each sheet of that conscientious work, the sum of
sixteen _gute groschen_, which he was to receive in the shape of books,
but at the same time to promise that, in case the contents of his work
should involve the publisher in any troubles with the authorities, he
would indemnify him.
In the latter part of the morning the apothecary's shop became a
pleasant rendezvous for the city gentry. There, politics and city news
were discussed along with small glasses of _eau de vie_; and from the
ceiling and upper cornice, the old frippery attire of exploded quacks
and worm doctors, also skeletons of sharks, stuffed apes, and other
horrors, looked down goggle-eyed upon the eager disputes of the
society. Besides the city gossip, politics had already become a
favourite subject of discourse, which was carried on no longer with the
calm of mere wise maxims, but with heartfelt interest. Whether King or
Empress, whether Saxony or Prussia, were principally discussed, it
could be discovered to which party each individual present belonged. A
few years later, these kind of disputes became so vehement that they
destroyed family life and the peace of households. Meanwhile the
imaginations of the lesser citizens, the servants and children, were
filled with other ideas, for the old superstition wove its web round
their life. There was scarcely an old house that had not its haunted
room; ghosts showed themselves on the graves and within the church
doors; even the engine-house was haunted before a fire broke out; still
was the mysterious wail of lament heard, a variation of the belief in
the wild army which had entered into the souls of the people through
the great war; still were old cats considered as witches; and
apparitions, presentiments, and significant dreams were discussed with
anxious faith. Ever yet was the search after concealed treasures an
affair of importance; no city was without a credible story of a
treasure trove which had taken place in the neighbourhood, or had been
frustrated by untimely words. But the prudent father of a family
already tries earnestly to enlighten his children and servants on such
points. The enlightened man does not deny unqualifiedly the possibility
of a mysterious connexion with the other world, but he regards every
single case with distrust; he admits that behind the ruined altar of
the old church and in the ruins of the neighbouring castle something
curious may be concealed, and that it might well repay a person to dig
for it; but he holds in sovereign contempt the flames and the black
dog, and he recounts with special pleasure numerous instances where
this faith of the "olden time" had been misused by deceivers. Seldom do
the months pass without bringing a periodical containing well-written
treatises, in which the mountain sprite is entirely put out of the
question, fiery meteors are explained, and thunderbolts are considered
as petrifactions. In no city are excited people wanting who are
tormented by apparitions; the clergy still continue to pray for these
poor people; but not only physicians and literary laymen, but also
clever citizens, maintain that such kinds of devils are expelled by
medicine and fasting, and not by prayer, as they are only produced by
the morbid fancies of hypochondria.
Among the daily events is the interesting arrival and departure of the
mail-coach. About this time all the promenaders like to move into the
vicinity of the post-office. The usual land-post is a very slow, clumsy
means of conveyance; its snail pace was notorious even fifty years
later. Of made roads there are as yet none in Germany; soon after the
Seven Years' War the first _chaussees_ were formed,--still very bad.
Whoever wishes to travel comfortably takes the extra post; for greater
economy, care is taken that all the places shall be occupied, and in
the local papers which have existed for some little time in most of the
larger cities, a travelling companion is sometimes advertised for. For
long journeys, private carriages are bought, which are sold again at
the end of the journey. The badness of the roads gives the postmaster
the right to put four horses to a light carriage, and it is a privilege
to the traveller if the Government will give him a licence to take only
two horses extra post. He who is not sufficiently wealthy for this,
looks out for a return carriage, and these opportunities are announced
several days beforehand. If there is much intercourse between two
places, besides the ordinary post and the more speedy mail, a licensed
stagecoach goes on specified days. These more especially facilitate the
personal intercourse of the lower orders. In 1750 there was one from
Dresden to Berlin every fortnight; to Altenburg, Chemnitz, Freiberg,
and Zwickau, once a week; to Bautzen and Goerlitz, the number of
passengers was not sufficiently certain for the coachman to be able to
go on a specified day; the green and the red passage-boats went between
Dresden and Meissen, each once a week. Even with the best drivers,
travelling was very slow. Five German miles a day, at the rate of a
mile in two hours, seems to have been the usual rate of travelling. A
distance of twenty miles could not be accomplished by a carriage under
three days, and generally four were necessary. When, in the July of the
year which is here described, Klopstock travelled with Gleim, in a
light carriage drawn by four horses, from Halberstadt to Magdeburg, six
miles in six hours, the rapidity appeared to him so extraordinary that
he compared it with the races at the Olympic games. But when the
country roads were very bad, which was always the case in the rainy
season of the spring and autumn, a journey was avoided unless it was
inevitable, as it was considered as a risk not to be encountered
without grievous adventures. In the year 1764, it was still thought
remarkable by the Hanoverians, that their ambassador had succeeded in
reaching Frankfort-a-M., for the coronation of the Emperor, in spite of
the bad roads, without any other damage than a broken axle. Thus we
find that a journey at this period is an undertaking to be well
considered, which can hardly be carried through without long
preparation; the arrival of travelling strangers in a city is the event
of the day, and the curious multitude collect round the carriage during
its detention. It is only in the larger commercial towns that the
hotels are fashionably arranged; Leipzig is in great repute in this
respect. People were glad to be accommodated at the house of an
acquaintance, ever taking into consideration the expenditure; for he
who travels must make accurate calculations. A person of any
pretensions avoids a journey on foot, on account of the bad roads,
dirty inns, and rough encounters. Well-dressed pedestrians in search of
the picturesque are, as yet, unheard of.
The traveller was not only accompanied by the lively sympathy of his
friends, he was also employed in their business, as then among
acquaintances there was more mutual accommodation than now. He was
amply supplied with clothes, letters of recommendation, cold meat, and
prudent precepts; but he was also burdened with commissions, purchases
of every kind, and delicate business; also with the collecting of
debts, the engaging of tutors, nay, even with reconnoitring and
mediating in affairs of the heart. If he travelled to some great fair,
he must take care of certain special coffers and chests to satisfy the
wishes of his acquaintances. This kind of reciprocal service was
absolutely needful, for the conveyance of money and packages by the
post was still very dear and not always very sure. Betwixt neighbouring
cities therefore a regular messenger service was established, as for
example in Thuringia, where it continues to the present day. These
messengers--frequently women--carried letters and errands on fixed
days, alike through snow and under a scorching sun; they had charge of
all kinds of purchases, and, as trustworthy persons, enjoyed the
confidence of the magistrates, who entrusted them with official letters
and public papers, and when they arrived at their destination had an
appointed place, where letters and return parcels for their native home
were delivered to them. If the intercourse between two places was very
active, a goods conveyance, with compartments with drawers in it, of
which sometimes two associated families had the key, was sent backwards
and forwards.
Scanty and spare was the housekeeping of the citizens; few of them were
sufficiently wealthy to be able to invest their household arrangements
and their life with any polish; and the rich were always in danger of
falling into unseemly luxury, such as corrupted the courts and the
families of the nobility. Those who had a comfortable competency lived
very simply, only showing their wealth by their hospitality and the
adornment of their house and table on festive occasions. Therefore
feasts were ungenial state affairs, for which the whole household was
deranged. Nothing distinguishes the man of the world more than the easy
style of his society. Strict were the regulations in the citizen's
household: everything was precisely defined, even on the smallest
points, as to what one was to render to or receive from another. The
interchange of good wishes and compliments, that is to say, the
courtesies of conversation, and even the _trinkgeld_, all had their
accurately prescribed form and amount. Through these innumerable little
regulations, social intercourse acquired a stiff formality which
strongly contrasts with the freedom from constraint of the present day.
It was still customary to be bled and take medicine on appointed days,
to pay your bills and make visits at stated intervals. Equally fixed
were the enjoyments of the year: the cake which was suitable to every
day, the roast goose, and, if possible, the sledge-drives. Fixed was
the arrangement of the house: the massive furniture which had been
bought by the bridal couple on their first settling down, the stuffed
chair which had perhaps been bought at an auction by the husband as a
student, the folding-table for writing, and the cupboards, had been the
companions of many generations. But underneath this network of old
customs freer views began to germinate: already did the troublesome
question arise--wherefore? even with respect to the most trifling
usages. Everywhere might individuals be found who set themselves with
philosophic independence against these customs, which appeared to them
not to be founded on reason; in many more did there work a deep impulse
to freedom, self-dependence, and a new purport of life, which they held
apart from the multitude and from society, which had the effect of
giving them an appearance of originality. The interiors of the houses
were still undecorated; the ground-floor, with its polished boards, had
no other ornament than the bright colour of the wood, which was
preserved by incessant washing, which made the dwelling at least once a
week damp and uncomfortable. The stairs and entrance-hall were still
frequently strewn with white sand. But they liked to have their rooms
nicely fitted up; the furniture, among which the commode was a new
invention, was carefully worked and beautifully inlaid. Painting was
still uncommon on the walls; but the distempered plaster walls were in
little esteem: papers were preferred. The wealthy liked to have the
stamped leather, which gave the room a particularly comfortable aspect;
leather was also much liked as covers for furniture. Copper and tin
utensils were still the pride of the housewife. They were used on
"state" occasions: this new and significant word had penetrated into
the kitchen. At Nuremberg, for example, there were in wealthy families
state kitchens, which used to be opened to small societies for morning
collations, at which cold meats were served. In such kitchens pewter
and copper glittered all around like bright mirrors; even the wood for
burning, which lay there piled up in great heaps, was covered with
bright tin, all only for show and amusement, as now the kitchen of a
little girl. But porcelain had already begun to be placed alongside the
pewter; in refined Saxony, more especially, the wealthy housewife
seldom failed to have a table set out with china cups, jugs, and little
ornamental figures. And the fashionable pet of the ladies, the pug,
might by a wayward movement produce a crash which endangered the peace
of the house. Just at that time this curious animal stood at the height
of his repute; it had come into the world no one knew from whence, and
it passed away from it again equally unperceived. But the heart of the
housewife was attached to her weaving as well as her pewter and
porcelain. The linen damask was very beautifully prepared, with
artistic patterns which we still admire; to possess such damask
table-covers was a most particular pleasure, and great value was also
set upon fine body-linen; the ruffled shirt which Gellert received as a
present from Lucius was not forgotten in the description of his
audience.
The dress worn in public was still regarded by serious men as a matter
of station; the Pietists had accustomed the citizen to wear dark or
sober colours; but fine textures, buttons, unpretending embroidery and
linen, demonstrated not less than perukes and swords the high-bred
man. This was the dress to be worn in public, and must especially be
put on when going out; and as it was inconvenient and--at least the
perukes--difficult to put on and to powder without the help of others,
a contrast wan produced by this between home and society which
proscribed social intercourse at certain hours in the day, and made it
formal and elaborate. At home a dressing-gown was worn, in which
literary men received visits, and the "best" dress was carefully
spared. Many things which appear to us as common necessaries were still
quite unknown, and the absence of many comforts was not felt. In the
year 1745 an Austrian non-commissioned officer begged of an imprisoned
officer, from whom he had taken a watch, to wind it up for him; he had
never had one in his hands. The worthy Semler had become a professor
before he obtained by the aid of a bookseller his first silver watch;
and he complained, about 1780, that then every master of arts, nay,
every student thought he must have a watch; now, in every family of
similar station, the third-form boy has a silver, and the student a
gold watch.
Besides the landed nobility, only the highest state officials and the
richest merchants kept their own carriage and horses, and this more
rarely than fifty years before. But literary men were then often
advised by physicians not to fear the dangers of riding; schools were
established, and riding-horses let out for hire. It did not indeed
happen to every one as to the invalid Gellert, to have as a present for
the second time, after the death of his renowned Dapple, a horse from
the Elector's stables, with velvet saddle and housings embroidered in
gold, which the dear professor, much moved after his manner, accepted,
though with the greatest distrust as to the good temper of the horse,
and was never weary of speaking of it to his acquaintance, whilst his
groom showed the prodigy for money to the Leipzigers. As the dress of
that day made people very sensitive to damp, sedan-chairs came into
fashion; they were as frequently used as now the droschky; the bearers
were known by a kind of livery, had their appointed stations, and were
to be found wherever the nobility and the public appeared in numbers:
at great dances, on Sunday at the church doors, and at the theatres.
Strict was the discipline of the house. In the morning, even in those
families that were not Pietists, short prayers were read with the
children and servants, a verse was sung, a prayer or exhortation
followed, and then a hymn. They rose and retired to bed early. The
intercourse at home was formal: extreme respect, with ceremonious
forms, was required of both children and servants; and husbands and
wives among the gentry still continued generally to speak to each other
in the third person plural.
All who appertained to the family, whether friends or distant
acquaintance, in their simple and often needy life, were invested with
great importance. Still were advancement, interest, and favours sought
for and expected, through the friends of the family. To protect and
become a partisan was a duty; therefore it was considered great good
fortune to have noble and influential acquaintances; and in order to
secure this it was necessary to be mindful of congratulations on
birthdays and verses at family festivals. Under such protection people
sought their fortunes in the world. Devotion to the great was immense:
it was still correct to kiss the hand of a patron. When Count Schwerin,
on the 11th of August, 1741, received the oath of allegiance for his
sovereign in the royal _salon_ at Breslau, the Protestant church
inspector, Burg, on shaking hands with him, wished to kiss his hand.
The Breslauers were not astonished at this obsequiousness, but only
that a field-marshal should have embraced and kissed a citizen
theologian.
Sponsorship was, among the citizens, the foundation of a still nearer
relation: the godfather was bound to provide for the advancement of his
godchild; and this parental relation lasted to the end of his life. If
he was wealthy, the parents gladly allowed him a decisive voice as to
the future of their child, but it was also expected that he should show
his goodwill by his last testament.
This life of citizens in humble circumstances developed certain
peculiarities of character and education. First a softness of nature
which, about 1750, was called tender and sentimental. The foundation of
this remarkable softness was implanted in the soul by the great war and
its political results, and Pietism had strikingly developed it. Almost
every one had the habit of exciting and stirring up themselves and
others. In the last century, family prayer had been heartless and
formal; now, the edifying contemplations and moral reflections of the
father of a family gave occasion for dramatic scenes within it.
Extemporary prayers especially, accustomed the members of a family to
express openly what was really in their hearts. Vows and promises,
solemn exhortations and pathetic reconciliations betwixt husbands and
wives, parents and children, sentimental scenes, were as much sought
after and enjoyed as they are now avoided. Even in schools the easy
excitability of that generation frequently came to light. When a worthy
teacher was in trouble, he caused the scholars to sing verses which
harmonised with his frame of mind, and it was agreeable to him to feel
that the boys understood him and showed their sympathy in their
devotions. In the same way the preacher in the pulpit loved to make his
congregation the confidants of his own struggles and convictions; his
sorrows and joys, repentance and inward peace, were listened to with
respect and consecrated by prayer.
The generation of 1750 had more especially a craving for excitement and
exaltation of feeling. A feeling, an action, or a man was easily
reckoned great; grand epithets were heaped upon friends; and, again,
your own sorrows and the misfortunes of others were enjoyed with a
certain gloomy satisfaction. Tears flowed readily both over your own
sufferings and those of others; and also from joy, gratitude, devotion,
or admiration; but it was not through foreign literature, not by
Gellert, nor by the literary worshippers of Klopstock, that this
sentimentality was implanted: it lay deep in the national character.
When, in 1749, the young Doctor Semler took leave of the University of
Halle, he was very sorrowful, for he had secretly adored the daughter
of his dear teacher, Professor Baumgarten, notwithstanding he had at
his home, Saalfeld, another love of his youthful days; this sorrow
affected him so powerfully, that with difficulty he took his Doctors
degree. He, however, succeeded, and after having done so, he delivered,
before his model Baumgarten--who was in the chair as president--an
extempore Latin gratulatory oration, so impassioned, that not only he
himself, but also most of his hearers, wept. Again, at home he sat down
and wept over his fate, and his truehearted comrade wept with him
almost the whole afternoon. That he should shed tears at his departure
was natural, but he still wept when in the course of his long journey
he arrived at Merseburg; and when, on reaching home, he gave the
laudatory letter of Baumgarten to his father, the latter wept also for
joy.
In this case the emotion was justifiable, and tears flowed from
the heart; but it could not fail to happen that the habit of
self-consciousness, and of watching each inward emotion, degenerated
into acting a part, and admiration of noble affections, into
affectation.
This soon showed itself in the German language. The higher emotions
still found no adequate expression. The language of books still
dominated, and all the nobler feelings of men had to adapt themselves
to its forms and periods. Just at that time however this language had
gained a certain degree of aptitude in expressing clearly and simply
the calm, methodic work of the reflecting mind; but when passionate
feelings sought expression in words, they were still restrained within
the threadbare forms of the ancient rhetoric, and nestled in the dry
leaves of old phrases. The Pietists had to invent a phraseology of
their own for their peculiar feelings, and these expressions soon
degenerated into mannerism. It was the same case with those new turns
of expression by which highly-gifted individuals sought to enrich the
language of the heart. If a poet spoke of feeling the soft tremor of a
friendly kiss, hundreds imitated him, delighted with the high-flown
expression. Thus, also, tears of sorrow and of gratitude, and the
sweets of friendship, became stereotyped phrases, which at last had
little meaning in them.
And this poverty of language became general. Almost everywhere, when we
expect the simple expression of an inward feeling, we find a display of
reflections which is as repulsive in letters and speeches, as in poems.
This speciality of the old time becomes insupportable to us, and we
readily accuse it of hypocrisy, callousness, and hollowness. But our
ancestors have a sufficient excuse. They could not do otherwise. Still
did there remain in their souls somewhat of the epic constraint of the
middle ages, the yearning for an outpouring of greater passion, for
enthusiasm, and for the melody of feeling: it becomes almost morbid;
everywhere there is an aspiration after a higher self-development;
everywhere a seeking and a longing; but still do their feelings lack
power, and their increased knowledge the corresponding free culture of
the character; and so do the poets, who have always been the leaders of
the people. Even in the amiable character that figures in the dawn of a
higher life, in Ewald von Kleist, the lyrical strivings are very
remarkable. Already are his descriptions rich in beautiful details, and
an abundance of poetical conceptions group themselves spontaneously
around the leading idea of his poem, which almost always rests on an
honourable and deep-seated feeling; but, amid all his poetical imagery,
he could not give utterance to an elevated poetical frame of mind, and
still less cause the full harmony of a beautiful feeling to echo in the
listener's heart. For his tones were not yet powerful enough, nor were
those of his older contemporaries who, so painfully sought after all
that was beautiful and noble in the soul, and so often boasted to have
found it.
But the self-contemplation of the educated did not extend to the inward
life alone: they were equally watchful of their outward appearance, and
of the impression which they made on others. In this respect they
appear to us ridiculously refined. The tight dress and powder, the fact
of being unusually smart, put men in a state of agitation and formal
cheerfulness which easily became affectation. The stereotyped forms of
social intercourse, and the rhetorical compliments, were so artificial,
that society became like a play, and the Germans of 1750 actors who
made themselves laughable if they did not act cleverly. When any one
approached a patron, he had to take care that his pace was not too
quick, nor too bold, nor too shy--that his voice was properly subdued,
and that he held his hat in his left arm, so that it formed a proper
angle; he had to prepare himself beforehand, that his address of
salutation might not be too long and too commonplace, and just
respectful enough to awaken goodwill; he had to pay much attention to
the intonation of his voice, so that what had been well considered
before might have the effect of being natural. If any one wished to
kiss the hand of a lady or gentleman of distinction, he took pains even
in this act to express a feeling suitable to the occasion; whether, as
a sign of confidential respect, he pressed it against his eyes and
brow, as well as to his mouth, how long he kept the hand, and how
slowly he released it, all this was very important, and, if possible,
well considered beforehand; any mistake committed, occasioned
afterwards probably great trouble to the guilty party. He who had to
exhibit himself before a larger assembly, took into serious
consideration the position and demeanour by which he could produce an
effect. However troubled was the young Semler when he stood before the
professor's chair for his doctor's degree, yet he did not forget "to
take a peculiar but not offensive attitude," in which he answered his
opponents so rapidly, that he scarce waited for the end of their
speech; nor did he forget to tell, how indifferent the "tender emotions
of his heart" had made him to every possible objection of his
antagonist. The women had also to study well, not only the motions of
their fans, but their smiles and the casting-down of their eyes; it was
required that they should do it unaffectedly, with grace and tact.
Undoubtedly this pressure of convenance was frequently, with the
Germans, broken through by characteristic rectitude and firmness. But
the stedfast enduring power of will, which we honour as man's highest
quality, was then very rare in Germany. It was to be gained by
experience and necessity, by the labour and practice of arduous duty;
then it broke forth with surprising energy. But this quality was
deficient in some manly characteristics. The pressure of a despotic
state had continued for a century; it had made the citizen shy, dull,
and fainthearted. This frame of mind had been promoted by Pietism. A
continual contemplation of their own unworthiness diminished in more
finely organized minds the capacity of enjoying themselves heartily, or
of giving frank expression to their own nature. The severe training and
immoderate exertions of memory of literary men, and their many night
watches in close rooms amid the fumes of tobacco, only too often
implanted disease. We may gather from many examples how frequently
consumption and hypochondria destroyed the life of young scholars. And
we find generally among the citizen families of that time, sentimental,
irritable, sensitive natures, helpless and feckless in respect of all
that was unusual to them. But that was not the worst. Not only the
will, but the certainty of their convictions and the feeling of duty
were easily extinguished by external influences. Of that quiet
self-respect which we look for in a good and highly educated man,
little is as yet to be seen. Money and outward honour still exercise
too great a power even over the most upright Gellert, who was a pattern
to his contemporaries of tender feeling and unselfishness, when a
professor at Leipzig, was joyfully surprised that a foreign nobleman
from Silesia, whom he did not personally know, but with whom he had
once exchanged a few letters, offered his mother a yearly pension of
twelve ducats. In his answer the assurance of tears of gratitude did
not fail. He never felt a scruple in accepting sums of money from
persons unknown to him. And one may venture to maintain that in 1750,
throughout the whole of Germany, there was scarcely a man, even among
the best, who would have refused an anonymous present.